


Origin

by OccupationLove



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Aftermath of WW2, Alternate Universe - Historical, Dark, M/M, Struggling with blame, guilt plagues people, ignoring/forgetting about the problem, questioning of the treaty of versailles, tw: cleaning open wounds, tw: open wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 09:29:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15816156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OccupationLove/pseuds/OccupationLove
Summary: Sometimes, Alfred believed that the destruction that took place and the horrors of war were more his fault than people gave him credit for. He knew when he had picked the right side and had stood for the right things; so, how could he with a clear conscious put the blame solely on Germany's shoulders? No, he knew that there were decisions they all could have made differently to prevent or lessen all of the tragedy; but it was too late now.





	Origin

**Author's Note:**

> GerAme Week Day 2 Entry #1!  
> I hope you all enjoy! I apologize for all the edginess beforehand.

"The Origins of World War II," they said as if the destruction was something born out of the ashes. Like it was created like life is created. Nurtured like children are nurtured. And perhaps it was but there would always be some part of him that felt that was fundamentally wrong. He could pinpoint some of the causes and see much of the buildup; but, somehow he felt that maybe they just had not tried hard enough to prevent it. Perhaps they just did not want the blood on their hands.

* * *

 

He had watched as they all pushed and pulled the world around them without any regard to the consequences. He had joined them; he thought that they were the victors and the victors could do no wrong. So, he watched as they rewrote history and tried to forget any moments that could place blame on their shoulders. He remembered wondering why it was placed on Germany’s shoulders. In only 1919, he was reminded of the importance of victory in war. He knew that Serbia had fired the first shot and yet Germany paid reparations.

Some vindictive part of him fought back against the confusion he felt.

_He sent a message to Mexico. He promised to take some of your land, America._

But another part of him was ashamed of himself.

_I thought heroes fought for justice. Where is the justice in placing all the blame on a Germany?_

Of course, the latter part of him was given an answer by his comrades. France’s unamused eyes looking up and down his body as he shook his head, “Have you seen my country, _M_ _on Ami_? You know what he’s done.”

He didn’t have an argument powerful enough to convince France; he hadn’t lost everything that France had lost. Maybe he shouldn’t have a say in the punishments. Maybe he should just support his allies who had been more involved. He didn’t know if he was being just, but he tried to remind himself that France had helped him in the past. He tried to hold on to loyalty.

Then, he had seen the look in Germany’s eyes when the Treaty was signed. He could feel the anger from across the room and despite not being particularly religious he had prayed that this wasn’t going to end as badly as he thought it was. If only he had known then; maybe he would’ve been able to prevent some of the damage dealt.

* * *

 

They created a coalition in the hopes to prevent another crisis like this from happening. He had made a mental note to check on Germany in that time period. Something in him looked at the other nation and saw a teenager ready to step over a ledge despite knowing that he was a full-grown man. He could feel the anger radiating off of him when they were in a room together and he worried that this League of Nations wasn’t going to be effective if they didn’t pay attention to the situation.

When he returned home, however, his one-track mind got the better of him. Suddenly, he was living large, going big, and throwing himself into every party down the streets of New York. The dancing, the drinks, the music, the drama-- combined they almost made him forget about all of the things he had seen overseas. As terrible as it was, he honestly did not remember to keep track of Germany in those years. He even thought that maybe he had nothing to worry about when he got that letter asking for financial help. He was having a phenomenal time at home and if he could help Germany pay off his debt to France then his true worries could possibly be avoided.

He had agreed to the arrangement not only because it benefitted him but also because he enjoyed helping others.

Then his stock market had crashed and for the first time since the fighting stopped in 1918, he saw his own citizens dying. He watched as the parties stopped and even food became difficult to provide for his people. So, when war was declared again in Europe he had brushed it to the side. It was not his responsibility. His people were hungry and short on money the last thing they wanted was to get into another war overseas. Besides that, he wasn’t really sure that he could afford to participate this time.

He remembered with a sense of overwhelming shame when his people had marched with signs that said: “What has Hitler done to us?” They hadn’t known at the time but he was so disgusted by how blind he was. If he hadn’t been thinking about himself, how many more could’ve been helped or saved? It was too late now, far, far, too late.

* * *

 

It was a blur of events after he joined the war. Every day seemed to be the same as he traveled with his soldiers. There were very few moments in the war that he could pinpoint with surprising accuracy. The one that stood out the most was Germany’s surrender. He remembered the day with quick precision but not for the reasons that one might expect. England had talked all day about how he was glad the war had finally come to an end and he had dazedly seen his allies walk broken and bandaged into the meeting. Germany had stood on the other side of the room and looked almost twice as broken but not nearly as bandaged. America wondered if he didn’t have the supplies or if he just hadn’t had the time to cover and care for the wounds sprawling over his arms or the cut on his face.

He had felt the anger in the room again but this time he realized that it was not coming from the blue-eyed man across the room. Instead, the toxic energy was coming from his side of the room. He understood this time; he knew that the atrocities that had taken place in Europe were unforgivable and he stood by his allies almost without question when the punishments were doled out. He agreed with them even, or he had until Russia had claimed half of Germany to occupy.

Still, he could not take his eyes off of the haunted look in Germany’s eyes as he stood by and listened to everything that would be happening to him and his people without even saying a word. It was so different than 1918; there was no lingering fire or quiet determination lurking in those ocean blues. Only subdued resignation echoed back at him.

He had followed Germany home that day in an attempt to help in some way. He took some bandages and antibiotics out of England’s storage before he entered the country on the off chance that the other country was indeed out of supplies. He had knocked on the door four times before he got an answer despite knowing that there was no way that the apartment was empty. The door opened as slow as he could possibly imagine and he was almost shocked when he looked up into bloodshot and half-terrified eyes on the other side. Germany had cleared his throat but his voice was still weak and scratchy as if he hadn’t used it in a while, “Did I miss a decision?”

Alfred cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow, “Huh?”

“Another decision. Did you all make one after I left? I was under the impression that the meeting was over.”

Another punishment, he meant. He thought that Alfred was there to add another punishment, “Oh. No, I just came to check on you. You don’t have bandages on and I thought you were probably out.”

Germany shook his head, “I don’t need them.”

Alfred tried to keep the shock off of his face, “Ah, so you just haven’t had time to treat those wounds? Do you need help? I can help.”

He shook his head again, “I don’t have any bandages.”

Alfred did a double take between the bandages in his hand and the other nations face, “I can--”

Germany looked away from him, “I can’t accept those.”

Alfred smiled and pushed his way into what he quickly learned was a disastrous apartment, “Sure you can now sit down and let me help.”

He must’ve had his firm resolution floating through his eyes because Germany only sighed before sitting down on a creaky wooden chair near what appeared to a living room. He peeled off his shirt before Alfred asked him to and settled, quite tensely, in a position that allowed him access to the wounds. It was obvious that he had been at least attempting to keep them clean but that didn’t mean that they were doing particularly well.

He prepared a clean washcloth and had barely cleaned out a single bullet wound when the other nation muttered under his breath, “You shouldn’t be doing this.”

Alfred rolled his eyes, “They’ll get infected if I don’t.”

Germany shook his head and put his face in his hands, “No, I don’t deserve this. All those people...they had to deal with so much worse. I don’t deserve this.”

Al paused in his cleaning and found himself gaping, wordless, at the other man’s back, “I...that’s not true. The world needs you on your feet.”

He snorted, “What the world needs is someone who knows what they’re doing to take my place. I don’t...I will never deserve this.”

Alfred sighed, unable to argue with that sentiment but still wanting to, remembering all the courses of action that led them there, “Listen, you can’t take back the things that have happened but you can work your ass off trying to make up for it all and the first step to that is getting back on your feet.”

“It will never be enough.”

“Maybe not. But at least it’s something, right?”

Germ--Ludwig, he realized, he was speaking to Ludwig--Germany would never have shown him this kind of vulnerability--made a strangled noise in the back of his throat before nodding and whispering almost inaudibly, “At least it’s something.”

Alfred smiled and continued cleaning out the wounds spattered around Ludwig’s torso, “Right.”

Maybe he was sticking his hand in a vat of boiling loss and despair. Maybe he’d lose himself doing so; but, somehow he couldn’t help but think that perhaps the rest of them shared some of the blame. And if he was able to somehow, someway able to make up for at least little of the sorrow that had swept across the world, he was willing to take any risk.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Any kudos and comments are greatly appreciated <3


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